


Calling You

by stelladora



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelladora/pseuds/stelladora
Summary: Courier Six has forgotten everything, even his name. He meets a doctor who may be able to help.





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you mean, like right through the skull?”

“Guess so. Shot in the head, is what they say. No matter how you do it, that’ll cause a mighty bit of damage.”

“So how’d he get fixed, then? Mr. New Vegas says ‘full recovery.’ You think he got one of them auto-docs?”

“In Goodsprings? Doubt it. Maybe he’s part ghoul or something, and the radiation healed him.”

“Nah, I bet he don’t even exist. Just some story Mr. New Vegas made up to pass the time. Bet half of the crazy shit he reports ain’t true.”

Six stood up and crossed the floor of the Wrangler, weaving between the empty tables. It was late, and most of the customers had retired to their rooms, alone or otherwise. Six approached the two women sitting near the stage and pushed his brown hair away from his forehead so they could see the scar that spread across his skin.

“The bullet missed most of the important parts. Didn’t get lodged in very far. A Securitron pulled me out of the grave and took me to a doctor. I was out cold for three days. Now I got migraines and severe amnesia,” he reported as if reciting a list of facts. As far as he was concerned, that’s all the story was. Six couldn’t remember anything that happened before being shot. His whole life was a blank. Hearing about his past always seemed to tickle something inside his head, but he couldn’t tell if these were memories or just stories he clung to in order to fill the space. He supposed it didn’t really matter. There were bigger things to worry about.

“Wait, you’re him? The courier?” one of the women said, mouth agape. She had a glassy-eyed expression that was only exacerbated by her obvious drunkenness. “Well damn! Sit down, let me get you a drink!”

“Hold on now Marie,” chimed in the other woman. She looked more put-together than her companion. “How do we know you’re really him?” she asked, addressing Six. “Everybody this side of the Colorado has heard that story, you could just be someone pretending. Tryin’ to take advantage of our good nature and all,” she said wisely.

“Not trying to take advantage of no one,” Six assured her. “How can I prove it to you?”

“Gita, it don’t matter who he is, _look_ at him,” Marie said in what was apparently supposed to be an aside. Six fought down a chuckle, pretending not to have heard. “Sit down,” Marie invited, turning back to him. Six sat. “You been in Freeside long?”

“No, just got in this evening, actually. Haven’t seen much yet,” Six explained.

“Not much to see,” Gita pointed out. “Just the Kings hassling those NCR goons and the Followers holed up in that fort, trying to deal with the aftermath.”

When he’d first heard of the conflicts gripping the Mojave, Six wasn’t interested. After waking up in Doc Mitchell’s house and hearing the story of what had happened to him, his only goal had been finding answers. He wanted revenge too, of course, but even that took a backseat to figuring out who Benny was and why he’d gone through the trouble of killing a lowly courier. But local politics had followed Six like a shadow. He was beginning to resign himself to the fact that eventually he’d have to choose a side. Even if that side was his own.

The group passed a few amiable hours together, with Marie laying down heavy hints that Six should join her and Gita in their room. Six politely declined, telling them that he had business to attend to in the morning. Gita gave him a thankful glance and used that as her excuse to finally lead Marie upstairs and away from the bar. Six finished his drink and turned in as well, feeling a pleasant buzz from the alcohol and company. It had been a long while since he’d been able to relax.

In the room the Garrett twins had given him, he washed his face with the dirty water from the sink, then examined his reflection as best he could in the cracked mirror. The ugly scar spread out from a central point above his right eyebrow, creeping over his skin like a fungus. It gave him a rather menacing look, so many people had been surprised to find him so helpful and charming. But he’d found that charm was one of the easiest ways to get what he wanted, and the citizens of the Mojave usually returned the treatment given to them. Six intended to follow that example.

* * *

 

He didn’t seen Gita and Marie when he left the Wrangler the next morning, which was just as well, but he remembered something Gita had mentioned. The Kings seemed to be the ruling gang in town, and Six thought it only appropriate that he pay them a visit.

About half an hour later, he left the King’s School of Impersonation. There was a lot he didn’t understand about the group—the clothes, the jargon, the weird dance moves—but what mattered was that he understood that the King was a powerful potential ally. Six was happy to do odd jobs for him and play the obedient lackey if it meant getting a good reputation. He wandered to the other end of town, glancing about nervously, playing the part of a scared and innocent tourist. He was dressed for it too: he’d left most of his good armor and weapons at the Kings’ so as to not look too self-sufficient. It didn’t take long for Orris to spot him.

“You look like someone who could use some protection,” Orris said, his voice bombastic and conceited. Six hated him right off the bat.

“Oh, uh, yeah I suppose so. I’m trying to get to the Strip,” Six said meekly.

“Well, you’re in luck. I can get you there safe and sound, for a small fee,” Orris said. “200 caps will guarantee you the best protection Freeside has to offer.”

“Really? You’re that good?” Six said hopefully. “Here, here you go.” He handed over the money the King had given him, appearing eager and relieved.

“Follow me. Don’t wander off. You never know where danger might be lurking,” Orris said, leading the way down the street. Six followed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Orris gave him a little tour, mostly of places Six had already seen. The Wrangler and Silver Rush were familiar to him already, and he recognized the Old Mormon Fort when they passed by. It was hard to miss the junkies staggering in and out of the gates.

“Hold on. I don’t like the look of this,” Orris said, ushering Six down a side street. Six followed, still glancing around nervously, watching Orris out of the corner of his eye at all times. Orris ran ahead a few paces and suddenly fired at an attacker Six had barely noticed. It was as if Orris had known where the ambush would be. “What did I tell you? Can’t be too careful. Good thing you’re with me, otherwise who knows what could have happened.”

“Wow, it was almost like you saw them before they even jumped out at you,” Six said, trying to keep his tone light and incredulous.

“That’s because I know how to do my job,” Orris bragged. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Yeah, I suppose these guys can only play dead for so long,” Six said flatly. He’d had enough of this. “They aren’t even bleeding. Some con you’ve got going here.”

Orris glared at him, the cockiness on his face turning slowly to rage. “ _They_ might not be bleeding, but you’re about to be,” he said before pulling his fist back and punching Six in the jaw. Six staggered, momentarily caught off balance, before righting himself and dodging Orris’ next punch. The man was wearing metal armor, leaving very little flesh vulnerable, but Six managed to get a hit on the other man’s face. As soon as his fist connected, Six felt someone hit him in the ribs with some blunt weapon: one of Orris’ accomplices had gotten to her feet and joined the brawl. Soon it was three-on-one, and it was all Six could do to stay on his feet and keep the blood out of his eyes enough to see what was going on. One more punch laid him out, and he knocked his head against the pavement. “That’s enough, I think he’s learned his lesson,” Orris said. He spit on Six’s face before leading the others away.

Six lay there for a moment, focusing on breathing. Even the small movement of his diaphragm hurt. It had been a bad idea to blow his own cover without backup, but Six had already been beaten enough; he didn’t want to add any self-flagellation. His brain felt hazy, and he hoped he wasn’t going to pass out in the middle of the street. He had to get help. Slowly, carefully, he got to his knees and braced himself against a wall before getting up. It was slow going, staggering down the street, arms wrapped around himself as if he’d literally fall apart. The walk to the Old Mormon Fort seemed longer than his whole journey from Goodsprings.

He staggered inside the walls and looked around blearily—he could feel his left eye swelling, and he kept having to reach up and smear away the blood that trickled from his scalp. People bustled past him, doctors and patients alike. It was clearly a very busy place. Six felt overwhelmed, his legs barely able to hold him up. He walked towards the first tent he could see, hoping to find someone to help him. Just outside, he stumbled and sank down to his knees again, fighting back a groan of pain. His whole body hurt. He just wanted to lie down.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” a voice said. The man belonging to the voice had stepped out of the tent in front of which Six was about to pass out. Six looked up at him, his mind moving too slowly to produce coherent speech. The man looked like light, all bright and shining amid the dingy surroundings. “Hang in there, we’ll get you fixed up,” the man said. Six closed his eyes and allowed himself to be pulled up off the ground and into a tent.

* * *

 

The next thing Six knew, he was waking up on a mattress in a tent. He was naked to the waist, with bandages wrapped around his abdomen. There were some wound around his head as well. He felt sore all over, and his head was throbbing as it did so often. Glancing around himself, Six recalled that he’d gone to the Followers. They had apparently patched him up and put him in one of their tents. There were a few others lying on mattresses nearby; judging from the pale light streaming in through the flaps of the tent, it was early morning, maybe around 5am. Six sat up slowly, knowing that he’d feel dizzy if he took things too fast. His shirt and the few items he’d had with him were lying on the ground nearby. He dressed, made it to his feet, and left the tent silently, not wanting to disturb anyone else.

The courtyard was nearly empty except for a few guards. Six wandered around, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. He’d meant to pay a visit to the Followers, but he’d intended for it to be under different circumstances. He peeked into the tents he passed, but mostly found patients and doctors sleeping fitfully, or medical examinations that he hastily ducked out of. One tent at the very back of the fort didn’t seem to be inhabited at all on first glance. It was filled with desks and lockers, with books laid out everywhere. Six would have passed by the tent without another glance had it not been for the cacti. They were everywhere: in pots, cut open on medical trays, on slides under microscopes, drawn on diagrams. Six had seen cacti before, but they seemed shockingly out of place here. Had he not stopped to take it all in, he wouldn’t have noticed the man sitting at a desk in the corner.

“You should be resting,” the man said, barely looking up from the prickly specimen in front of him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Six said simply.

The man looked up, shaking his head a little. “At least sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the chair at the neighboring desk. “Don’t ruin all the work I did.”

Six accepted the invitation and took a seat. “So you’re the one who fixed me up?” he asked, looking over the doctor. Now it all came back to him, and Six was reminded of his first addled impression: the man really did somehow look like light. Probably the blond hair combined with the white lab coat. The doctor’s disposition was less sunny; he seemed closed-off and guarded.

“Yes. I’m mainly a researcher, but we’re so understaffed that everyone helps out where they can,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Arcade Gannon.”

“Arcade Gannon,” Six repeated, trying the name on his tongue. It was unusual, to say the least, but who was he to judge? “How much do I owe you?”

“We’re a free clinic,” Arcade explained. “But don’t use that as an excuse to get into any more bar fights.”

“Wasn’t in a bar,” Six said. “I’m only belligerent when sober.” Arcade snorted at that, then turned back to his notes. “What’s with all the cacti?” Six asked.

“Research. Trying to find out if any of the local flora has potential healing capabilities,” Arcade explained. “I think it’s safe to say no, at this point. We’re stuck relying on medicine that is in drastically short supply,” he said with barely-concealed frustration.

“Can I help?” Six asked. That seemed to be the question at the tip of his tongue lately. That, and ‘have you seen the man who shot me in the head?’

Arcade scoffed. “No offense, but if someone with sixteen years of medical training can’t make any breakthroughs, I doubt some drifter will be able to.”

Six’s brow furrowed. “Whatever’s got you so frustrated, don’t take it out on me, doc,” he warned. “First of all, I’m not a drifter. I know exactly where I’m going, I don’t drift. And second, I wasn’t offering to sit here and look at plants all day. I was offering to go collect supplies for the Followers.”

Arcade paused, averting his eyes with chagrin. “Excuse me. Sometimes I think I’ve spent so much time looking at cacti I’m starting to turn into one.” He smiled weakly. “All dried up and full of thorns. But…yes, we would appreciate your help. Talk to Julie Farkas, she’s in charge here.”

“Will do,” Six said, standing up gingerly.

“And take some med-x if the pain is too bad, but no more than three tablets per day, alright?” Arcade added authoritatively.

“Yes, sir,” Six said. “Thanks again,” he added, turning to go.

Arcade stood up as Six walked away. “Hold on,” he said quickly. “I know you’re not going to just walk out of here without even telling me your name. That would be rude.”

Six turned back to him almost sheepishly. “Six.”

“Six?” Arcade repeated. “Like, the number?”

“Yeah. I was a courier,” Six explained. “One of the only things I had on me when they found me was the order form. It kept referring to me as ‘Courier Six.’” Surprisingly, Arcade was the first person he’d met who inquired about the origin of his strange name.

Arcade stared at him blankly. “I’m not following. What do you mean, they found— _oh_ ,” he said, everything finally clicking into place. “You’re the one they’ve been talking about. The courier who was shot in the head. That explains the scar.”

Six nodded. “Yeah. They just called me Six because I can’t really…remember my name. Or anything from before when I woke up in Goodsprings.”

Arcade raised an eyebrow, his interest apparently piqued. “That’s some significant amnesia. Can I…?” he gestured to Six’s forehead.

Normally, Six wasn’t inclined to let strangers gawk at him, but he found himself nodding and took a step closer to Arcade. The man was tall, taller than Six by at least a few inches. Six couldn’t help noticing Arcade’s hands; they were large and firm, but he was clearly trying to be gentle as he held Six’s head and inspected the scar.

“This hasn’t healed properly. The doctor who fixed you, did he give you stiches?” Arcade asked, the authoritative bass of his voice filling the space between the two of them.

“Yeah,” Six said hesitantly. “They didn’t…last very long.” Arcade took his eyes off the scar and met Six’s gaze. Six, slightly ashamed, stared down at the floor. “They _itched_ like hell. I took them out myself two days after leaving Goodsprings.”

Arcade sighed. “That explains it, then. You’re lucky you didn’t get an infection. Does it still hurt?” he asked, brushing his fingers gently over the mangled skin.

“Not…not on the outside,” Six explained. “But my brain hurts sometimes. Often. It feels like it’s swelling and my skull is going to crack open.”

“There may still be shrapnel inside,” Arcade mused quietly. “Perhaps something didn’t heal correctly on the inside as well.”

Six moved his head a little, meeting Arcade’s eyes and disturbing the doctor’s impromptu examination. “Can you fix it? Would that bring my memory back?” he asked. Six tried to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t help the glimmer of hope that shone through.

 “We don’t have the equipment or facilities to do anything like that here,” Arcade said with a scoff. “We can barely maintain basic hygienic standards.”

“But if you did have the right tools and everything,” Six prompted him, suddenly eager. “Could you?”

Arcade looked at him more seriously, wary now. “It would…it’d be incredibly risky. We’d have to open up your skull again, and one wrong move could leave you worse off than you are now. It’s a miracle you’re even alive.”

Six sighed in frustration, trying to hide his disappointment. Sure, it was impressive that he could still walk and talk and all that, but what did any of that matter if he didn’t know who he was? Maybe there was a family somewhere waiting for him. Maybe he’d had some big dreams and goals for himself. Now, he had no one. Nothing. He tried to fight off the thoughts that had plagued him since waking up in Goodsprings. He was adrift, floating around the Mojave with no purpose, no allegiances, no direction.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s not the answer you were hoping for,” Arcade said. His tone wasn’t overly gentle, but rather factual and pragmatic. He didn’t seem to be a man who coddled others.

“Well, I suppose I have other ways of retrieving what I lost,” Six said, resolving not to wallow. Not now, at least. “Thanks again for patching me up.” With that, he turned to leave the tent. “See you around.”

“Take care, Six.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What are you doing?” asked Arcade. “We have to go.”

Six stared out over the canyon, the brick-red rocks reflecting the sun’s heat back at him. “I want to stay here,” Six said. “I don’t want to go.”

“We have things to do. I’m going, with or without you.”

A swirling fear churned inside Six’s stomach, sadness and apprehension threatening to spill out of him. He didn’t want to be here alone. Six watched Arcade turn and retreat down the dark corridor of the abandoned building, getting farther away no matter how fast Six ran to catch him. The doctor’s white lab coat shone through the gloom as if it generated its own light. The light grew brighter and brighter, eventually obscuring Six’s vision until all he could see was white.

Six slowly awoke, feeling a non-specific grief. He stretched out in his bed at the Wrangler, staring at the stained ceiling as he tried to recall moments from his dream. With embarrassment, the memory came back. That was the third night in a row he’d dreamt about Dr. Gannon.

About ten days had passed since Six first visited the Old Mormon Fort. During that time, he’d explored the ruins outside of New Vegas, doing odd jobs for people and trying to avoid the Fiends. Skirmishes were inevitable, and Six became quite adept at field triage. He helped out the Garretts, earning himself a good reputation at the Wrangler and a complementary room. He also spent some more time with the Kings, trying to smooth over their hostile relationship with the NCR. He’d told the King about Orris’ con, and accompanied a group of gang members when they went out and beat the escort senseless. Time passed quickly in the bustling area near the Strip, and the lit-up tower just on the other side of the gate loomed over everything, reminding Six of what he had yet to do.

But he couldn’t bring himself to enter the Strip. He had the caps, and he was fairly confident that the King could get him a passport if he asked, but for some reason Six just couldn’t bring himself to go through the gate, to take the next step. It was an odd feeling, considering this was what he’d been working towards since waking up in Goodsprings. Now that he was finally here, he was full of hesitation.

It was irrational, he knew. But all the same, he stayed away from the Strip.

Six had amassed a considerable number of stimpacks and various medical equipment just from looting the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of Freeside. He’d been keeping it all in his room at the Wrangler, figuring it’d be better to bring it to the Followers all at once. That morning upon getting out of bed, Six nearly bashed his head against the dresser after tripping over a doctor’s bag. He decided it was time to pay the Followers a visit.

* * *

 

Six looked around the fort, which was bustling as ever. Patients going through rehabilitation sat in small groups, chatting with one another and trying to hide their withdrawal symptoms. A woman wearing a blood-spattered lab coat rushed by him, shouting to one of her colleagues. Six looked around, searching for Julie Farkas. He’d been told she was the one in charge.

“Let me guess, the NCR needs more support from us?” Julie asked him testily, sizing him up as he approached.

“I…I don’t know. Probably, but that’s not what I’m here about,” Six explained.

“Oh. Sorry. We’ve been having some difficult dealings with them lately, and you look…”

Six raised an eyebrow. “I look like NCR? I guess I should ask the Fiends for some fashion tips.”

Julie laughed. “Well, you look like someone who can handle himself out there, is what I meant,” she clarified. “Which makes me wonder why you’re here. You need medical attention?”

“No, I was here a while ago and Arcade—Dr. Gannon—mentioned you needed some more supplies.” Six said, slinging his bag off his back.

Julie narrowed her eyes warily. “And how much will you charge for them?”

Six paused. He hadn’t thought that far. Despite his pilgrimage to the Strip and his search for answers, he had done odd jobs for people whenever he could along the way. It was instinctual for him to give help when asked, and he’d learned that having a good reputation made getting information significantly easier. “No charge. I just want to help,” he said simply. He could always cache in a favor later, if need be.

Julie seemed cautious, but nevertheless led Six to a table where he could set down what he’d been carrying. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “There aren’t many people around here who are that selfless.” Six didn’t bother to correct her. Better to let her think well of him for now. “So you said you talked with Gannon last time you were here?” she asked.

“Yeah. He found me about two seconds before I passed out,” Six explained sheepishly.

A look of recognition came over Julie’s face. “Oh, you’re the guy he was dragging into the treatment center,” she said with a smile. “You passed out before he could tell you where to go, so he dragged you over there himself and fixed you up.”

“Did he?” Six asked, a little embarrassed. “I don’t remember that.”

“Usually Gannon stays behind the scenes, doesn’t deal with patients. I guess he decided to make an exception for you,” Julie said. “He said you were the courier shot in Goodsprings.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Six said with a grin. “What, ah—what else did he say?” he asked with forced nonchalance.

“Not much. He’s notoriously tight-lipped. He said that you have amnesia?” Julie replied, her tone inquisitive.

Six nodded. “Yeah. Pretty extensive. That’s why I came to the Strip, to find out what I’ve forgotten.”

“Wow. Well, I—ah, dammit,” she muttered, catching sight of something over Six’s shoulder. He turned and saw a man stumbling into the fort, clearly high. “Nathan’s had another relapse, I’ve got to take care of this. Thanks again for the supplies,” Julie said, hurrying away.

Six didn’t know who Nathan was, but the situation seemed urgent enough that he didn’t waste Julie’s time with questions. “You’re welcome,” he called out after her. Left alone in the middle of the fort, Six looked around again. No one was paying any attention to him, and Six took that as an invitation to wander around unsupervised.

He headed to the back of the fort where he remembered Arcade’s tent was. The canvas flaps were closed and, finding no way to knock, Six let himself in. The tent was empty—that is, there were no people in it. In fact, the place was as cluttered as the last time Six had seen it. Cacti still stood on every available surface, and various books and papers were strewn around. Presumably Arcade had some sort of order here, but Six couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He approached one of the tables in the middle of the room where a notebook had been left open. His back to the door, Six began to read. The notes were absolutely inscrutable. He moved on, looking instead at the various plant species on the table. It was noble, what Arcade was trying to do. These plants were everywhere in the Mojave, and if they could prove to be of some use, it would improve the lives of many people here. Hopefully the doctor would have some kind of breakthrough soon.

“This tent is off-limits to patients,” came a stern voice from behind Six. Momentarily startled, he turned around and saw Arcade standing in the doorway.

Six had seen the man in dreams for the past three nights, and had replayed their meeting in his mind several times. But his memory had always been lacking, and it couldn’t compare to seeing Arcade in the flesh. Six was hit with a rush of warmth, and he felt his heart flutter. With a wave of something like foreboding, Six realized how absolutely infatuated he was with the doctor.

Arcade’s expression changed a bit upon recognizing his visitor. Six wondered if it was just wishful thinking to think the man looked happy to see him. “Oh, it’s you,” Arcade said.

“I didn’t know this place was off-limits,” Six said sheepishly. “Why didn’t you mention that last time?”

“I…I don’t know,” Arcade said. He cleared his throat. “Is there something I can do for you? Did you get into another fight?” he asked with a smirk.

“A few, but I won this time,” Six rejoined. “I just stopped by to drop off supplies. I gave them to Julie.”

“And then you decided to come get a botany lesson?” Arcade teased as he walked across the room toward his desk.

“Sure, if you’re offering,” Six said with a smile.

Arcade laughed a little bitterly. “Unfortunately I don’t think I can teach you much. I’ve hit a wall here.” He surveyed the materials spread around the room, and Six detected a slight change in his expression, but didn’t quite understand it.

“What are you going to do now? Start researching something else?” Six asked.

“I don’t know,” Arcade admitted. “Part of me knows that if any of this stuff could be useful, people would have discovered that long ago. It’s disheartening to think your life’s work might be useless,” he said with a sad smile.

Six’s heart strained inside his chest. “I’m sure your work isn’t useless,” he said, trying to be reassuring. Arcade just raised an eyebrow, as if to disagree. “ And anyway, this doesn’t have to be your whole life,” Six pointed out. “You could leave it all behind, come travel with me.” The words were out of his mouth, lighthearted, before he had time to think.

Arcade laughed at him. Six pressed his lips together, mentally kicking himself, hoping he wasn’t blushing too much. “Why would I do that?” Arcade asked.

Six shrugged, immediately feigning indifference, backpedaling. The realization that he had such strong feelings for Arcade had gotten him flustered.  “I could use someone to follow me around and patch me up.”

“As thrilling as that sounds, I’ll have to pass for now. I’m not quite that discouraged,” Arcade teased.

 “Keep me posted. The offer’s always open,” Six said with a smirk.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arcade said sarcastically. He picked up a pile of books from on top of a folding chair by his desk and looked around for a suitable place. He ended up depositing them on top of some open journals on the table in the center of the tent. Gesturing for Six to sit, Arcade took his own seat at his desk. “Where are you travelling to, anyway? We don’t often get people like you in Freeside.”

“People like me?” Six repeated, taking the seat Arcade had cleared for him.

“You’re different than the normal drifters,” Arcade clarified. “You’ve been running errands for the King. You brought the Followers medical supplies. You don’t seem all that eager to get into the Strip, but you haven’t taken up with the junkies, either. Not to mention that rifle on your back,” Arcade added with a smile.

His smile was contagious. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?” Six asked mischievously.

“Believe it or not, you haven’t exactly been keeping a low profile,” Arcade said. “You’re becoming something of a legend in Freeside. But I don’t quite understand what you’re doing here,” Arcade prompted him.

“I’m on my way to the Strip to find the man who shot me in the head,” Six said factually, almost without emotion. Arcade raised an eyebrow, apparently intrigued. “He’s in charge of a casino called The Tops.”

“And what do you plan to do with him?” Arcade asked with a small smile.

“Make him tell me every detail he knows about who I was before, and why he needed the package I was carrying. It’s kind of up to him how that conversation goes,” Six said with a smirk.

Arcade chuckled a little. “What’s the hold-up, then? If you know where he is, why are you still here?”

The lighthearted mood came to a screeching halt. Arcade had asked the question Six had been successfully pushing out of his mind for the last week or so. “I don’t know,” Six mumbled.

Arcade, seeming to sense the shift in the other man’s mood, furrowed his brow, becoming more serious. “What are you afraid of?” he asked. Six opened his mouth to protest, immediately feeling defensive, but Arcade cut him off. “Be honest.”

Six paused. Obviously there was danger in storming into The Tops to confront Benny, but the idea of having a shootout with the Chairmen didn’t phase him. It was something deeper that had been bothering him, something he’d refused to acknowledge since he began his journey, but Arcade had opened up the floodgates: what if he didn’t like what he learned?

Six had been driven by the need for answers, the need to figure out just what had happened. But what if his amnesia was for the best? What if, before all this, he’d been evil somehow? What if his past self and his current self were incompatible? Who would he choose? How could he live with a schism like that? And what if he’d had a family? What was better, to be dead to them, or to go back to them with no idea of who they were, no affection for them? What if it was better to make a clean break, to start over?

What if his past didn’t matter?

“Six?” Arcade prompted, and Six came back to the present, realizing he’d been sitting in silence for quite some time.

“I…” He sighed. “I guess whatever I learn from him, I’ll be disappointed somehow, won’t I?” Six said with a weak smile. The façade was wearing thin, but he knew this wasn’t the place to break down. “It’ll just be a story, anyway. A story about someone who doesn’t exist anymore, someone I replaced.”

Arcade shifted in his chair, but Six couldn’t really get a read on his body language. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up such a…personal topic.”

“It’s okay,” Six said quickly, seeing how awkward Arcade felt. And who wouldn’t, listening to a complete stranger baring his soul to them? “I shouldn’t be boring you with my problems anyway, I know you’ve got a lot to deal with.”

Arcade looked amused at that. “Six, you are many things, but you are certainly not boring,” he assured him. “Though, I don’t suppose I have a very good metric to measure by. Even these cacti have more thrilling lives than I do,” he joked.

“I think you’re interesting,” Six contradicted. “A doctor working with a charity in one of the most troubled cities west of the Colorado, but you don’t like interacting with patients? You don’t add up,” Six pointed out, trying to sound lighthearted and steer the conversation away from his brooding uncertainties.

“There’s more than one way to improve people’s lives,” Arcade pointed out. “Just because I’m not a people person doesn’t mean I don’t feel obligated to help where I can.”

“That’s admirable,” Six said sincerely, almost gently.

Arcade blinked and looked at him almost as if he were seeing him for the first time. “Oh. Well, I’m glad you think so,” he said. Six thought he detected something like shyness in Arcade’s tone and mien. It was endearing.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Six stood up, preparing to leave. “I should go, I’m sure you’ve got work to do,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” Arcade said, standing up as well. It felt as though the change of position had allowed them to shake off the intimateness of the previous conversation. “Thank you again for the supplies.”

“Anytime. Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” Six said. “And sorry for breaking into your tent,” he added with a laugh. “I didn’t know it was off-limits.”

“To patients,” Arcade corrected him. “You’re not a patient anymore, so…feel free.”

Six smiled again. “Will do. What am I now, out of curiosity?” he asked teasingly.

“If it didn’t go against our moral regulations, I’d make you a case study, take a look inside that head of yours,” Arcade said jokingly.

“Tell you what, if I die any time soon, you can have my corpse,” Six rejoined.

Arcade rolled his eyes and chuckled at that. “Can’t wait.”

“I was serious, by the way,” Six said as they stood in the doorway. “About travelling with me. If you change your mind, let me know. I have a room at the Wrangler, just talk to one of the Garretts if I’m not there.”

“I really don’t think I’ll start longing for a nomadic life any time soon,” Arcade said with a smirk.

Six decided to be forward and self-confident before he second-guessed himself. “Either way, you should come see me sometime. I don’t want to have to resort to faking injuries for an excuse to talk to you,” Six said, praying that his remark came off as charming rather than desperate. “See you later, doctor,” he added, leaving the tent before Arcade had a chance to respond. There were limits to his boldness, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left comments, I'm glad you're enjoying this!! It might take me a little while between updates because I don't really have a plot in mind lol. I thought of one scene I really wanted to write and started the fic in order to work to that.   
> And if you enjoy this, please go read Sidewinders by Shakana!! Their fic really inspired me to write this one.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a difficult day; he’d gone out to Camp McCarran and asked about the bounties he’d heard talk of. Major Dhatri explained the situation to him, and Six had set off with resolve. The Fiends had proven to be a nuisance around New Vegas. Everywhere he went, he had to be on the lookout for them. Not that they really valued stealth; their black armor and skull adornments stood out sharply against the beige wastes, and they were usually shouting to one another about something. Six had jumped at the opportunity to take some of them down, especially if he got paid for it.

It had taken him most of the day to track down Violet and her dogs. When he found her in her makeshift fort, he waited a while, trying to see if there was a better plan than just storming the place. Unable to find another way in, Six had run out into the open, yelling at the top of his lungs. As expected, several of the dogs came racing towards him, eager for blood.

Six knew he couldn’t outrun them, so he tried his best to dispatch them as they approached. He got three of them before he began to run, barely keeping the dogs off his heels. One of them made a desperate lunge and raked its teeth through his upper arm. Adrenaline kept the pain at bay for the moment, and Six gave the dog a sharp jolt with the butt of his rifle, stunning it momentarily before he shot it in the skull.

From the scrap-metal makeshift fortress Six heard Violet shriek. The sound was wild, and it made his heart skip a beat. She came running, eyes crazed, showering him with bullets. Six took off as well, trying to find cover behind one of the nearby trailers.

The fight lasted a while, but eventually Violet sank to the ground. Six hacked at her neck with his machete, allowing himself to finally take a breather when his prize was secured. It was just after midnight when he dragged himself back to Camp McCarran and handed the bounty over to Major Dhatri. The man was surprised by Six’s success, but Six was too tired to brag. He took his caps and assured Dhatri that the other bounties would be finished soon.

Six stumbled rather than walked into the Wrangler. His arm stung where the dog had bitten him; he’d need to disinfect it and find some clean bandages. His muscles ached as they usually did after a long day out, and he longed for a shower. But all thoughts along those lines vanished when he surveyed the Wrangler and noticed Arcade Gannon sitting at the bar.

Arcade looked up when Six entered the building and his face broke into an expression of something like eagerness. “There you are,” he said, standing up from the barstool. Looking over Six, his expression changed to one of concern. “You look awful. What happened?”

“Uh…I got into a bit of a scrape,” Six said lamely. How long had Arcade been waiting for him? What was he here for? And why did he have to see Six when the latter looked so bedraggled?

“Your arm is soaked,” Arcade said, clearly resisting the urge to inspect Six’s wound and get blood on his hands.

“Really? Didn’t notice,” Six said drily. “What brings you here? Didn’t peg you as a booze and cards type of guy.”

“I’m not. I was looking for you,” Arcade said. Six’s stomach lurched. “I…I have a favor to ask. Can we…you have a room here, right? I can help you with that arm.”

“Yeah, yeah sure come on up,” Six said as nonchalantly as possible, leading the way upstairs. As he unlocked the door and let Arcade in, he tried to see the room through new eyes. Luckily, he was a fairly neat person, not to mention he didn’t have that many possessions. The room was relatively tidy, the bed decently made, nothing embarrassing lying around. “Here we are, home sweet home,” Six joked. “So what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could test something for me. It’s lucky you’ve got that wound, actually,” Arcade said. Seeing Six’s incredulous expression, he went on. “It’s a salve I’ve been working on. I’ve tested it to a small extent on myself, but that’s not ideal for recording data objectively, and the Followers have some strict regulations about testing things on patients—at least Julie does. So, I was wondering…” Arcade paused hopefully. Six was about to answer when he went on. “It’s made of the roots of cereus repandus, which I’m hoping will induce heightened healing rates, and there are some small amounts of a few other species, just to alleviate pain. The only thing is that—”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Six said simply, cutting him off. The scientific aspect didn’t really interest him, but he was eager to please the doctor.  

Arcade’s eyes lit up. “Really? Excellent. Take your shirt off,” he commanded. Six obeyed as Arcade went over to the table on the left side of the room and began pulling various items out of his bag: a notebook, a jar of yellow stuff, bandages. Six carefully peeled the fabric of his shirt away from his open flesh, trying not to wince too audibly. “Do you have vodka, or should I go downstairs?”

“In the nightstand,” Six instructed. “I would have guessed you were a gin man. What are we celebrating?” he asked as he went to the bathroom to wash his arm as best as he could. He left the door open behind him.

“I don’t drink,” Arcade clarified. Six could hear him setting the bottle down on the table. “I don’t suppose you have a better disinfectant, though, do you?” he asked, following Six into the bathroom. “Let me do that.”

Six didn’t protest as Arcade took the towel from him and began rinsing the dried blood off of his arm. “No, I guess I don’t.” He paused a moment, looking down at the gash in his arm so as to avoid looking at the doctor’s eyes. “I hope you weren’t waiting long for me.”

“About two hours or so,” Arcade replied lightly, also not looking up from his work. “It’s no problem. There are certainly a lot of interesting people to chat with here. I should probably apologize for dropping in unannounced,” he added, finally setting the wet towel in the sink and looking at Six.

“It’s no problem. I’m glad to see you,” Six said before he could stop himself. He thought he saw a hint of a smile flit across Arcade’s face before the other man let go of his arm. He grabbed a clean towel and led the way back into the main room.

“Have a seat,” Arcade said, gesturing to one of the rickety wooden chairs at the table. Six obeyed, watching with slight apprehension as Arcade soaked the cloth in alcohol. It was certainly not a high-quality spirit, and Six knew it would sting. “It’s best to start with a clean slate, reduce the number of external variables,” Arcade explained, apparently seeing Six’s wariness. Six nodded and offered Arcade his arm, resolving not to squirm too much. As Arcade disinfected the gash on his arm, Six tried to think of a good conversation starter, but came up empty. His brain was still whirring when Arcade was finally through.

“There’s…one more thing I should tell you. I don’t want to mislead you,” Arcade said hesitantly, holding the jar of yellow goo. “In the preliminary tests I’ve run, the plant-based ingredients didn’t have a very strong effect on their own, so I thought that by adding a catalyst, I could not only hasten the effects, but also strengthen it,” Arcade began defensively.

“You’re making it sound like it’s something horrible, like cazador venom or something,” Six said with a chuckle.

Arcade opened his mouth and closed it again, as if trying to find the words. He then began speaking very quickly, “I’ve done some preliminary research, and I have reason to believe that certain chemicals from the venom—not _all_ of it, mind you, just certain chemicals—could help speed up the process. If you don’t want to try it, I understand perfectly, I’ll still bandage you up and everything, I just—”

“I’ll do it,” Six said simply, even though alarms were blaring in the back of his mind. He’d had a few run-ins with cazadors before, and he’d learned that the best tactic was just to keep away from them.

Arcade looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I trust you.” That, at least, was true. Six gave Arcade a reassuring smile, and the doctor return the expression almost shyly.

“Alright. We’ll get started then. Let me make some preliminary notes,” Arcade said, reaching for his notebook and scribbling something down in it. “Do you have any current medical conditions?” he asked.

“Is a gunshot wound to the head a medical condition?” Six asked sarcastically.

“Other than the amnesia,” Arcade clarified.

“None that I know of,” Six said with a shrug.

Arcade finished making his notes and took up the jar and a metal stick-like instrument. “Alright then,” he muttered, more to himself than to Six. He began coating Six’s wound with the paste. The substance was cold and had a sour smell, but it didn’t hurt immediately like Six had expected it to. In his experience, cazador venom burned on contact. He sat still, trying to ignore the way Arcade was looming over him. “Done,” Arcade said, screwing the lid back on the jar. “Can you tell me your initial reactions?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair opposite Six.

“It’s cold. I expected it to hurt more,” Six confessed. “You made it sound like it was deadly,” he added with a smile. “I don’t really feel anything. It kind of tingles, I guess I’d say,” Six reported, watching Arcade write it all down. “Is that helpful?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Don’t try and tell me what you think I want to hear, just be honest,” he said, barely looking up from his notes. “Do you feel any—well, I don’t want to ask leading questions,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Finally he looked up, and Six detected a hint of shyness in the other man’s expression. “I know it’s late, but may I stay just a little longer? I’d like to record the initial results myself, especially any side effects.”

“Sure, stay as long as you like,” Six said immediately, deciding to ignore his exhaustion. He was loath to see Arcade go, even if he did need to sleep.

“Thanks,” Arcade said with a small smile. There was a moment of silence, during which Six wracked his brain for something to say to alleviate the awkwardness. It was Arcade who spoke up again, though. “I didn’t even ask you how you got that injury. Your arm looks _torn_ , what happened?”

“Dog bit me,” Six explained simply. “I was tracking someone, a gang leader with the Fiends. She had a whole pack of them.”

Arcade raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. “I’m surprised you only have the one bite, then. Why on earth would you go _looking_ for the Fiends?”

Six shrugged. “Someone asked me to. One of the NCR captains, or leaders, or whatever they’re called. And it helped that he offered me a few hundred caps,” he conceded.

Arcade just shook his head. “Your life is really something else, you know that? Most people turn the other way when they see danger, whereas you go looking for it.”

“Most people have something to lose,” Six pointed out. “If I ever did, I don’t remember what it was. I feel like I’m living on borrowed time anyway,” he added with a rueful smile.

“What do you mean?” Arcade asked, his tone softer now, evidently having picked up on Six’s change in mood.

Six had thought about it a lot. Obsessed over it, some might say. But the question of his direction in life and his identity had been paramount for him since he woke up in Goodsprings. He knew now that, even if he could track down Benny and make him tell him everything, there would always be gaps in his memory. It would always sound like a story that had happened to someone else. And for all intents and purposes, Six was someone else now. Whoever he’d been was irrevocably gone. And maybe that was okay. Maybe starting over didn’t have to be something bad.

He was just beginning to think about this last part recently. He wasn’t sure whether or not he believed it yet.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Six said with a sigh. “You’ve heard my story already. I want to hear yours,” he said, trying to shake off the dark mood the two had found themselves in momentarily.

The attempt did not work. Arcade’s face darkened like a storm cloud. “I’m really not that interesting,” he said tersely.

“You interest me,” Six said before he could stop himself. He didn’t even register he was speaking until the words were out of his mouth, and by then all he could do was try to hide his mortification.

“That’s very polite of you to say, but I really don’t have any stories to tell. My life isn’t like yours, I don’t go travelling around doing exciting mercenary work.”

“You could,” Six pointed out. “I’d be glad to travel with you.” Arcade looked at him a little incredulously. “I would! Think about it. A mercenary and a travelling doctor. _Think_ about it,” Six repeated, staring with gravitas at Arcade. He blinked heavily; a feeling like drowsiness had suddenly com upon him, and his vision felt like it was swimming.

“I’ll give it some consideration,” Arcade said. “Maybe you’re right. We could help a lot of people that way,” he mused. Arcade started glowing brighter; the warm yellow light that emanated from him began to fill the room.

Six gasped softly, lifting his face up to feel the warm light. He looked out at the cliffs on the horizon and watched the rocky towers grow and spiral up to the sky. “Look,” Six said. “Why are those birds so weird?” The birds had landed nearby and were making a noise like pieces of glass tinkling together. They each had three heads, and they were too heavy to fly properly. They flapped around on the ground, opening their beaks and making the glass-sound like they were talking to teach other. “What do you think they’re saying?” Six whispered hoarsely.

He turned around and looked at the tree nearby. It was one of the desert trees—Six didn’t know what they were called—and its branches were low and curved, inviting. Six entwined his arms with the branches, leaning against the trunk of the tree, feeling the warmth it radiated. The tree grew above him, ascending into the sky.

Finally Six felt himself being pushed back, made to lie down on the soft, sandy desert ground. “No,” he whined petulantly, feeling the branches of the tree slip away from him. The warmth of it was gone now, and Six wanted to protest more, but he was so comfortable lying on the ground…

 

He woke with a jolt, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he looked around and tried to remember where he was. In bed, in his room at the Wrangler. He calmed down, realizing that his dreams of turning into a giant scorpion were only dreams. He ran his thankfully human hands through his hair, breathing deeply to calm himself down.

“How are you feeling?”

Six gasped again, hearing Arcade’s voice from across the room. The doctor was seated at the table, looking at him with concern. It all came back to Six—most of it, anyway. Arcade had put that salve on his arm (the bandage was still there as evidence), then they’d talked for a while, and then…then Six woke up in bed. And he’d had such weird dreams.

“Dehydrated,” Six managed to grumble through his scratchy throat. He sat up, bracing himself against the way the room swayed.

“Careful now,” Arcade said, crouching down by the side of the bed, putting his hand on Six’s shoulder and offering him some water. “You’ve been out for a little over an hour.”

Six drank gratefully, and his head cleared a bit. “I don’t really remember what happened. It’s like I was drunk or something.”

Arcade smiled. “Seemed that way to me, too. You were hallucinating, I believe. You were wandering around the room, talking about birds. And you kept calling me a tree. That went on for about ten minutes before I decided to put you to bed.”

Six groaned. How absolutely embarrassing. “Sorry to make you stay here half the night,” he said sheepishly.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Arcade said quickly. He removed his hand from Six’s shoulder, which Six immediately regretted. “I should have run more preliminary tests, I had no idea what the effects of that salve would be. I just…well, I wanted to see you again, and…” Arcade trailed off, looking down at the floor.

“It’s alright, no harm done,” Six assured him, still processing what he’d just heard. Arcade had wanted to see him? He screwed the cap back on the container of water and set it on the nightstand. “Did you get the data you needed, at least?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arcade said, standing up and clearing his throat. “Your help really has been invaluable.” He went over to the table, gathering his things and putting them into his bag.

“Are you leaving?” Six asked.

“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time for one night, haven’t I?” Arcade said with a laugh that seemed just a little forced. His cheeks were bright red, and he wasn’t making eye contact with Six.

The latter swung his legs to the floor and got out of bed, which turned out to be the wrong move. The room tilted suddenly, and Six had to close his eyes against a dizzy feeling. He heard Arcade cross the room and felt the doctor holding onto his arms, steadying him. “Careful,” Arcade said, and Six opened his eyes, feeling much more grounded now.

“Listen, it must be three in the morning,” Six pointed out, instinctively holding onto Arcade. “You shouldn’t be walking around alone. Stay here,” he said.

Arcade looked a little surprised. “Really? Are you sure?” Six nodded. “…Okay. Thank you,” Arcade said softly. He loosened his grip on Six, and the other followed suit. “You should probably lie down,” he pointed out.

Six did so and tried not to make it too obvious that he was watching as Arcade removed his shoes and lab coat and crossed the room to turn off the lights. The darkness was cool and soothing, but Six still felt a little tense as Arcade got into bed beside him, facing his back.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Arcade said lightly.

“Anytime,” Six said, smiling in the dark. He hesitated a moment, but the darkness and the fact that they weren’t facing each other made it easier to ask the question that was on his mind. “What did you mean when you said you wanted to see me?”

He felt Arcade’s weight shift beside him. “I just…wanted to see you,” Arcade repeated, his voice barely above a mumble. “I like you,” he added quietly.

“Oh,” Six said, staring at the wall across the room. He didn’t trust himself to say any more than that; he was still uncertain about the situation.

There was a pause. “I hope I’m not…misreading the situation,” Arcade said finally, almost shyly.

“How are you reading it?” Six asked hopefully.

Six could sense the doctor’s hesitance as Arcade reached out and put an arm around him. In response, Six moved closer to him, and the pair adjusted until they were properly pressed against one another. That was as good an answer as any.

“Goodnight, Six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to write this chapter. I wish I could say that I'll put the next one up quicker, but...I probably won't.


End file.
